by Juliette Fay
“No, today! Please? Please, Dad?”
“It’s cool,” the father assured Janie. “I didn’t have anything teed up for him, anyway.”
Is this how you let your marriage go, too? Without any effort? Janie thought, looking at him for a second longer than she should have.
A slim smile emerged on Keane’s father’s face, and he unclipped the BlackBerry from his belt hook. “Fire off your number and I’ll reach out to parlay a pickup.”
Ew, thought Janie. Keep the lingo to yourself. It sounds like a verbally transmitted disease. “Just pick him up at three.” She told him the address and ushered the boys to the car.
Immediate speculation began about what tools Tug was using and how big they were, and how loud they were, and whether he would let them use that really big, loud saw thing…
“It’s Tug’s birthday,” mentioned Janie, hoping to turn the conversation away from the potential use of power tools by four-year-olds. Within moments they had planned a party with cake and red juice, the kind with too much sugar that Dylan wasn’t allowed except for special occasions. “I don’t think we have time to make a cake,” Janie warned.
“Let’s go to Cormac’s!” Dylan sang out like he’d discovered the secret of time travel. Janie sighed. She knew that resisting this kind of boy-powered enthusiasm was going to be a long hard swim against the current, and reluctantly headed for the Confectionary.
“You’re getting a birthday cake for your contractor?” said Barb when they barreled in the door, the boys immediately pressing themselves against the glass cases. “He must be pretty good.”
“He’s perfectly average,” replied Janie. “It’s just an activity for the kids.”
Barb grinned at Carly, wriggling in Janie’s arms, and held out her hands. “Can I?”
Death by enthusiasm, thought Janie, and handed over the baby.
“This one…no THIS one!” the boys called to each other up and down the cases.
“Where’s your smallest cake?” Janie muttered to Barb.
“Wha?…Oh, thith one,” said Barb, her mouth full of Carly’s fingers. Barb’s pink fingernails tapped on the top of the nearest case, indicating a tiny white cake with purple frosting flowers.
“No,” said Dylan, who had materialized by Janie and was now standing on her sneakers to get a better look. “That’s no good.”
“It’s fine,” said Janie. “Box it,” she said to Barb, and held out her arms for Carly.
“No, Mom,” insisted Dylan. “He will not have a good birthday with that one.”
“Dylan, it’s fine, he’ll love it.” He expects nothing, she wanted to say. He’s just a guy who works for us. Temporarily. Don’t get attached. Don’t expect him to stay in your life forever just because you picked the right cake…
“This is good—look at this one!” Dylan was pointing to a massive chocolate cake with artfully broken pieces of dark chocolate protruding jaggedly around the top. It was the most expensive item in the store. Janie wondered how she had gotten in so far over her head with a damned birthday cake. Malinowski wouldn’t even care, and Dylan would think they were best friends forever.
“Oooh, Dylan, I’m so sorry, but that one’s already sold,” said Barb, who was suddenly holding Carly out toward Janie, her little legs dangling over the huge glass case. Janie grabbed Carly just as Barb let go. “Boys, come over here, I have to show you this really special one.” She led them to the last case and bent down to point out a small chocolate cake with a checkerboard pattern inscribed in the frosting. “Does he like chocolate?” she asked Dylan.
“It’s his favorite.”
“This is the most chocolate cake in the whole store, AND it doesn’t have any jam filling or nuts!”
“Nuts—gross!” said Keane, his body shuddering in disgust.
Barb boxed the cake, waved off Janie’s offer of cash, and told Dylan and Keane to sing “Happy Birthday” extra loud for her. They practiced the whole way home.
BY THE TIME JANIE pulled into the driveway, the boys were aquiver with anticipation and spilled out of the car as soon as it stopped. Tug was laying dark brown boards across the floor joists.
“Happy Birthday!” they screamed and launched into song, but then realized they were not holding the cake, and dove back into the car to get it. Janie unboxed the cake and walked it toward Malinowski with a boy on either side of her, their fingers sliding into the frosting where they grasped the circular cardboard tray. They sang like it was their own birthdays and candy was raining from the sky. Janie forced a smile, embarrassed by their unbridled enthusiasm and her evident complicity.
Tug played his part, slapping his thigh in surprise and grinning widely. He glanced at Janie, who gave a little shrug and paid all her attention to keeping the cake from falling into the dirt. When they reached him, they lowered the cake onto the boards he had laid out, and Janie went back to the car to get Carly who was shrieking to be included. By the time she returned to the little party, Tug had hacked off pieces of the cake with his jack knife and laid them into the boys’ unwashed hands.
“Oh,” said Janie, “I was just going in for plates and napkins.”
“No need,” he said. “Thank you, by the way. This is very…it’s very nice.”
“It was the boys’ idea.” She looked around at his work. The project seemed to be going slowly. She wondered how he would get it all done in a month. “What’s with these boards?” she asked. “I thought the floor was going to be pine.”
“No, it was,” he said, licking a smudge of chocolate frosting from his lower lip. “But when I got to the lumber distributor, they had this huge order of mahogany that never got picked up. I talked the guy into selling me some for the same price as the pine. Can you believe it?”
No, she couldn’t believe it. The plans called for pine. What would possess him to purchase anything else? “It’s supposed to be pine,” she said.
“Yeah, but…mahogany’s better. Stronger, nicer looking…You don’t like it?”
It was beautiful. She could see that. She didn’t actually know why Robby had chosen pine, other than maybe to keep the cost down. But it’s what he had chosen, and it was how he’d envisioned this porch for her before he’d become unable to envision anything at all. Before he’d lost his sight. And everything else. But not the bike helmet. That had stayed safe at home.
“I can return it,” Malinowski offered. “I haven’t cut anything yet. I wanted you to see it first.”
“Uhh, I just…I don’t…when do I have to decide?”
“Tomorrow? How’s that?”
“Okay. I’m sorry. You just surprised me.”
“I know,” he said. He nodded at the cake. “You surprised me, too.”
KEANE’S FATHER WAS FORTY minutes late. “That’s okay,” Keane told Dylan. “I don’t mind.”
They wore Janie down for another piece of Malinowski’s cake and were surprised when she served it to them on paper plates instead of into their hands. They countered this disappointment by licking the plates clean and barking.
Janie was wiping the chocolate off their noses when the gleaming tan sports car skidded into the space behind Tug’s truck. Keane’s father was still bobbing his head slightly to the now-extinguished beat of some overly percussive song when he strode up the driveway.
“Whazup?” he said to the little group on the front steps.
“Where’s my late fee?” asked Janie, smiling only with her mouth.
Keane’s father chuckled and shook his finger at her. “You got me!” he said. “But maybe I could make it up to you some way…” He cocked his head to one side and gave her a moment to appreciate her good fortune.
“I got a buddy with a muffler shop over in Framingham,” Tug said, a nail sticking out of the side of his mouth as he bent over a bracket. “If you were looking to get that pipe fixed.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my muffler. It’s supposed to sound like that.”
“Okay,” said Tug. He
lined up the nail and banged it hard with the hammer.
“Seriously, man. That’s the way it sounds.”
“Kinda loud,” said Tug. “You might wanna check it.”
Janie directed the boys toward the sports car. “Where’s your booster seat?” she asked Keane.
“Dad says I’m big enough.” He scurried into the back and buckled himself into the sea of champagne-colored leather. The chest strap lay across his face for a moment before he tucked it behind his back.
Janie closed the door and turned to Keane’s father, now beside her. “They have a program down at the police station where they give you a booster seat,” she said, “if you can’t afford it.”
“Bye, Keane!” yelled Dylan over the sound of the gunning motor.
9
SUNDAY, JULY 22
So Jake’s practically moved in. Not really, but it seems like he drops by a lot. Or e-mails. I keep wondering if he talks to anyone but me about all this, but I never get around to asking. Not that we only talk about Father L. We usually start with that and then end up talking about other stuff. I don’t even know what.
He did okay at Mass today. I think he was trying extra hard to look normal and stable after last Sunday. His homily had more little jokes than usual. They were pretty bad but they appealed to the older folks and that kind of mother that always wears a skirt to Mass, never pants.
When he came down to the church basement for coffee and donuts afterward, he came straight over to me, which I think may have ticked off his usual groupies. I smiled at him, and was about to say something nice about his homily, but then he smiled back, so relieved, and I didn’t have to say anything at all. He reached out and gave my arm a quick pat, then he turned to the multitudes and did his duty.
Out of the blue, Aunt Jude invited him over for Sunday dinner, and us, too, of course. He accepted right away. I think he’s just taking every opportunity not to spend too much time in the rectory.
The dinner was strange. I can’t say why. More strange than just your average, eating-overcooked-pot-roast-with-your-nutty-aunt-and-a-guy-dressed-in-black-from-head-to-foot strange. Everyone seemed quieter than usual. Can you believe I’m saying this? Aunt Jude was quiet. For her. She still talked like her tongue was battery powered, but then at times she seemed to be watching him. I think she must know that this Father L. business is taking a toll.
And Jake, Mr. Smooth with the Church Ladies, of which my aunt is most definitely one, seemed like he didn’t always know what to say, how to play it. I think maybe it’s hard for him to do the Pastor Perfect routine in front of me. Because he knows I know.
Aunt Jude was watching me, too. She thinks she’s sneaky but I can tell. Maybe she sees I’m not quite as wretched and pathetic. Probably patting herself on the back for sending him over to me back in the darkest dark days. Who knows what her agenda is.
Mum’s got her itinerary set. She’s flying in on Saturday the fourth, sliding in under the wire to make it for Dylan’s birthday. She better get here. Dylan will be so upset if she doesn’t.
DYLAN WAS WEARING THE goggles again. Janie hadn’t realized that he’d taken a break from this habit until she looked in the rearview mirror. “Hey, where’d you find those?” she asked as she drove him to Pond Pals camp.
“They were here,” he answered.
“Do you need them for your swim lessons?”
“No, you can’t see stuff, anyway,” he said. “The water’s too…” He wagged his hand around.
“Murky?” she asked. She had read online that they were trying to combat an invasive lake-weed problem with the use of a “weed harvester,” a submersible machine that ripped the plants out by the roots. The article had said something about how the agitation had disturbed the generally clear waters of Lake Pequot. She was up on all the news these days. “So how come you have them on?”
“I just like to,” he said. He took them off and stashed them behind his booster seat when they pulled into the Town Beach parking lot. Janie was tempted to put them away while he was at camp, but she thought it might upset him. She mentioned it to Jake later that morning, and after some consideration, they decided it was best to just let it be.
When she picked Dylan up that afternoon, he told her sullenly, “Keane already left. With his dad.” He dug out the goggles and wore them for the short car ride home. He stayed out in the yard with Tug when Janie went into the house to change Carly’s diaper.
The sound of breaking glass made Janie race down the stairs before she’d resnapped the baby’s onesie. Shards of glass lay all over the kitchen table and an unfamiliar ball rolled into a corner of the linoleum. “What happened?” she called to Tug. “Where’s Dylan?”
“He’s okay.” Tug’s face emerged behind the sunburst of broken glass in the window. “He’s fine. Dylan, you want to tell your Mom you’re alright?” he called over his shoulder. There was no answer.
“Where’d that ball come from? Is that yours?” she demanded.
“No, never seen it,” said Tug. “Dylan took it out of his backpack and threw it to me, but I had a board in my hands, and I couldn’t catch it.”
“Dylan, where are you?” she yelled coming out the front door with Carly on her hip, the flap of the onesie sailing out like the train of a strange little gown. Dylan was hiding under a rhododendron at the edge of the yard. “Come out of there right now.” He scooted partway out and sat with his arms crossed against his narrow chest and his chin down.
“Whose ball is that?” she asked.
“Mine.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“Keane gave it to me and he said it was mine and I could keep it so it’s mine.”
“Why did Keane give you the ball?”
“Because,” he looked up for a moment to gauge her reaction. His eyes were red and his lips were tightly clamped. His chin began to tremble. “Because he said his dad could get him another one any time and I could have this one to practice because I throw…really…” the tears came now, “…bad.”
“Oh…” Janie sank down on the grass next to him.
“I need Dad,” he whispered.
“Oh,” she breathed, and reached out to pull him toward her. “Oh, Dylan.” I forgot about throwing, she wanted to say, I forgot about all that stuff. I’m so sorry. But her throat closed like a vise around her words and tears sprang to her eyes and she was too far from the bathroom to run and hide. Dylan buried his head in her lap and she hid her face in his black curls and they cried. Carly crawled a few feet away and found a stick to wave around like a baton, conducting the symphony of their sorrow.
WHEN JANIE’S SHOULDERS STOPPED heaving quite so much, she turned her head and wiped her face on the sleeve of her T-shirt. It left a dark, wet smudge like a makeshift badge. She knew Tug was watching even before she glanced up and caught his unblinking gaze. They both looked away. “I’ll teach you to throw,” she murmured to Dylan.
“Even if I broke a window?”
“Yeah, even then.”
There was no avoiding Tug as they walked back toward the house. “Sorry, Tug,” said Dylan. “I’m a bad thrower.”
“Nah, you gotta be pretty strong to break a window,” he replied. “Just need to work on that aim a little.”
“Mom will help me.”
He nodded and gave Janie the gentle edge of a smile, “Moms are good for that.”
“What do you think about that window?” Janie said, stifling a sniffle.
“Actually, I’m kind of glad about this,” he said.
“Really.”
“No kidding. I’ve been meaning to mention it. This window, I think it should be replaced.”
“Because?”
“It’s old, it’s not insulated, and it’s too small. The kitchen won’t get nearly as much light with the porch here now, and we could put in a nice wide one for not too much money. I know it’s not in the plans, but it deserves a thought.”
Janie sighed. She wasn’t sure if she had a thought
to spare. Tug helped her clean up the glass in the kitchen as they discussed the possibility. How wide. How expensive. In the end she said yes out of sheer exhaustion. And out of deference to Shelly, her soon-to-be-ex neighbor, who had said, “Of course you can trust him.”
“ANOTHER BREAKFAST?” ASKED JANIE the next morning when Tug walked into the yard with his crate of tools at 9:15.
“Nah,” he said. “Only so much of that a grown man can take. Ever eat with teenage girls? I mean, since you were one?”
“No, I don’t think I have.”
“They eat like they’re at war. With the food. The food hates them, and they have to outsmart it. Deprive it of butter or salad dressing or the like. But no matter what they do, if they eat it, the food wins. So they put on more lip gloss and go after each other.”
“Oh, sure,” Janie laughed, “like it’s so much worse than teenaged boys, who slobber up everything that’s not nailed down, and then ask why there’s never anything good to eat.”
“True,” he grinned. He set down the tools and rotated one of his shoulders, unscrewing the lid of some ancient ache. “Actually I was window shopping. Found you a beauty. Perfect size, discontinued model so I got it for a song, and they had it in stock. They’ll deliver tomorrow. Which means today I’m going to rip a nice big hole in your front wall.”
The noise was so bad, and the house was so small, there was no room far enough away from it. Janie ran as many errands as she could think of until Carly arched her back and screamed in the deli line at the supermarket, and she took her to Aunt Jude’s house for a nap. Janie hoped that Aunt Jude would be “out and about,” as she would say. But she was home, watching The Ellen DeGeneres Show, and ironing her wash-and-wear blouses.